


I Will Be Who, What, Where, When You Need (Me)

by helena_s_renn



Category: Greta Van Fleet (Band), Music RPF
Genre: Against the Wall - Freeform, Bathroom (almost) Sex, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Sanny, snarky humor, the rhythm section
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 04:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20252176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: Sam can't stand still at a photo shoot in NYC."What's wrong with you today?" Danny pulled his lifelong friend aside to ask. "I mean, more than usual."





	I Will Be Who, What, Where, When You Need (Me)

**Author's Note:**

> *Everyone is/was over 18.   
*No disrespect intended to the characters' basis or their families. The opposite.  
*Mostly Sanny (Sam/Danny). Quick [offstage] appearance by Josh & Jake.   
*Warning: this one starts a little slow and corny but it gets better ;)

-2018, summer

When he wanted to be, when he was intent, Sam could be as still as marble and sharp-eyed as a vulture. Not today. At every turn and direction he was twitching, fidgeting, turning away from the camera. They had to stop again and again to fix his clothes and hair. It seemed like every shot was botched. 

"What's wrong with you today?" Danny pulled his lifelong friend aside to ask. "I mean, more than usual."

"Gee thanks. A person can't have an off day?" Sam walked off, his back to Danny, who followed him. Whatever it was he wanted to know the whole story.

"I suppose it happens, but usually you like photo shoots. So...?" 

Sam just hunched his shoulders. "I dunno." 

What the hell? It wasn't like him to blow off concern, and not to have a definitive, encyclopedic explanation to hand. Danny pressed him again with words. "You gotta pee or something? Bladder infection, uh, UTI?" he giggled, pleased at his own cleverness. 

A truculent, "NO," was the next non-answer. 

Danny got in front of Sam to cast a baleful stare at him and back him further away from his brothers, into the cramped corner bordered by a dingy-white floor-length curtain that the photog referred to as a dressing room. 

"I think I got... something." 

"Something...?" Squinting, Danny only had to think about that for two seconds. "Oh! No way! Aren't you more careful than that?" 

Sam was still defensive. He also had one hand down the front of his pants, not even trying to hide it, and if Danny hadn't been sure he was scratching, he'd have thought Sam was playing with himself, the way his eyes rolled back and he groaned from low in his narrow chest in relief. "Yes I am. No more women with '70s bush. They can be hippies some other way." 

Thinking about that, Danny tilted his head and mock-glared at Sam till the bassist backed up a step. "I had better not catch your fleas third-hand, dammit!" 

"Oh, you won't..." Sam unbuckled his belt and advanced on Danny, who tripped over his own feet in his hurry to retreat. "C'mere, crabby boy!" taunted Sam. 

"It's you with crabs..." Danny landed on his ass, and Sam landed on him. How quickly things could turn on a dime, Danny reflected. 

There was a certain look, one that hadn't changed much over time though Sam's face had recently lost anything resembling innocent softness with encroaching adulthood. His skin, his lips, this Danny well knew, but not the foundations of him. "Gotcha! I'm just messin', I'm not diseased or... infested, you freak. Dunno if it's the phase of the moon or something, I'm so fucking hard and it won't go down, I can't hide it from the camera even behind Josh's big head." 

Well, in that way, they were still young. Danny sighed his most long-suffering, most put-upon sigh. "So I suppose that means you want--"

"Please, Danny?" The combination of old whiskey rasp and puppy whine was irresistible. 

"Where's the men's room?" They managed to clamor to their feet, Danny marching Sam in front of him with a hand on the small of his back like he was a woman and it was the 1950s. 

"Stop that...!" Sam insisted. "I'm not your girlfriend."

"Which you're about to prove." Boy, not girl, but even so, never anything so common or inane.

There was one unisex bathroom for the floor, maybe five feet square. Fucking New York. At least there wasn't a line. Sam went in like the sleek little mammal he was and Danny followed, not even trying to be coy. Once inside, door locked, he said, low, "All I ask is that you don't get any of your spunk on my clothes."

Sam leaned back against the walls where the corner came together, kicking a couple of discarded paper towels away. "How do you think I'll manage that? Suck me off?" 

He'd asked for this before. Danny had always drawn the line at hands, never mind how he had been startled to realize a while back that he was starting to find his friend was pretty damned sexy; beautiful - for lack of a better word - aesthetically speaking if you didn't mind androgyny and so skinny he could likely fit his hands around Sam's waist. Looking and even touching, once he got past the initial shock, he could take in stride because it wasn't constant. Mostly they were just buddies, same as they'd always been, doing what for them were normal everyday things, and hanging out. 

Then there were those few but slowly compounding times like this. They would have already crossed the line if not for his wariness. Deliberate sex, even just oral - and Danny refused to do it haphazard - would change... everything. And if it didn't, that would be just as weird. 

More immediately, "Cream your pants," was Danny's solution. 

"Eeeee-youuu-wuh!" Sam drew the expression of disgust out into several syllables. "That'll just make the itch worse." 

"Didn't your mama teach you how to wash your--"

"Keep my mother out of this." 

Then Danny had another idea. "We could get naked and wash up... after. Then it won't matter if you shoot it everywhere." 

"And you too, Danny." Sam's eyes flicked down below Danny's belt buckle. 

At that point, the drummer had to stop denying that this sex-talk had him sprung. "Well, then, hurry the fuck up." He already had his clothes half gone, shirt tossed over the sink, shoes kicked over by the door, pants falling down below his knees. "Why do you Kiszkas have to wear your pants so fucking tight all the time?"

"Reasons," Sam reported smugly. His eyes raked Danny's skin. That had only been happening in the last few months, and only when they were alone, not every time obviously. Still, it made Danny squirm. He lowered his eyes as Sam comically peeled his leggings or whatever off, inside out, tugging and hopping to get them over one foot, then the other. Silly-looking or not, Sam had left his socks on. Smart move. God knew when this place had last been cleaned. 

When Danny looked again, Sam was buck naked except for his eye-popping yellow and green socks. Unable to stop them, Danny's eyes were drawn to Sam's erection immediately. Fine, he had a matching one. Well. Matching, in that it was hard. No one would deny that the two of them were proportional to their respective statures, although Danny estimated that Sam, being a grow-er, had a little more heft than he deserved. 

Appreciative eyes roved over him, too. As vocal as Sam could be, his half-closed eyes spoke for him. The hand between his legs moving in languid strokes did, too. Danny moved in till they were chest to chest, dick to dick. They had no time but he needed just a taste of his best friend's kiss. As always when he was horny, Sam's lips pouted fuller, sweeter, and when Danny took his mouth, his tongue licked wordless love upon needy smiles and snarls. 

"Lift me up," Sam demanded, almost completely covered by Danny pressing him to the wall. Already he had one leg bent at the knee and ascending toward Danny's hip. 

"You want to wrap your legs around me, huh?" Danny chuckled, more than willing and Sam knew it. He slid his hands up Sam's sides, over the ribs, to his ampits, and hoisted him six inches off the floor. Two skinny legs wound around him and tightened; Danny flexed his hips forward to get under most of Sam's weight. 

"Fuck yeah, Danny, do your thing!" They'd discovered that Danny's sense of rhythm went beyond percussive instruments. His entire body, his being, went into his music, likewise this two-man gig to a fast release. One arm braced against the wall and the other around Sam's back to clench in his hair, he turned his head aside and closed his eyes as he began to ride it.

And Sam rode him. Using his thighs, he jerked his pelvis a few times until they aligned. "Yes," they both hissed. Danny felt fingers wiggling between them and sucked in his belly, but he couldn't stop now. Churn and churn, grind and thrust, his whole lower body felt like it was suffused in too much trapped blood, erect, and Sam's dick burned hot against him. 

"Danny... make me..." A dribble of slick helped them slide. Sam was good with his fingers, using his double-jointed thumb to coat them both where the most nerves sent rapture down lower. Faster, more friction, closer. 

Rougher now, Danny moaned, "Yeah... want you to. You can hump me..." 

An amused noise like 'what do you think I'm doing?' escaped Sam's throat, close to Danny's ear. Dropping his feet to the floor, Sam whispered, "My balls are so full, so tight. Dunno what's going on, it's like the itch that I can't scratch. Need to let it out, Danny." Moving to one side, he strained and shook, clinging to his friend till finally Danny had pity on him. Rhythm just as forceful, he whisked his hand down Sam's back to his ass, gripping the muscle till their cocks had no room, just the suede of their skin and the scratch of Danny's happy trail to rub against. 

He felt it even before Sam could announce it: rich, warm jets of seed slathered between them, up his chest when he leaned back a little. "Nnngh, uuuuhh, fuuuuck..." groaned Sam, then sudden high-pitched short yips followed as he emptied his balls. 

One of the spurts landed on Danny's nipple. Not thinking he was that close yet, he found that heat and wet there, plus the knowledge of what it was, made it suddenly his turn. He too vocalized, closed-mouthed and deep, cut off when someone pounded on the door. 

Someones. One howled, the other grunted like a rutting walrus, and then there was hysterical laughter for a good half-minute. Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, the mildly flustered but relieved all-important rhythm section took turns cleaning themselves up with tepid water and paper towels at the dubious-looking sink.

"C'mon boys, time to finish this fucking photo shoot." Josh's voice. 

"Do your fucking and your shooting later." Jake. 

"Too late," chirped Sam as he checked his navel for spunk.

Pulling his pants up, Danny called out, "He's kidding." Okay, so it was too late about the shooting - off - but there'd been no fucking.

"One of these days, Danny..." Which twin had said that, or why, Danny wasn't sure. Usually he could tell, but the door might have muffled the exact timbre of the speaker's voice. He looked over at Sam, who was putting his shirt on, questioning; Sam only shrugged. 

Figured. Kiszkas. Keeping their secrets. The only thing even more reliable was that Sam's hormones would get the best of him again. And then Danny would, too. 

Fin.


End file.
